


Heart's Desire

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: Softly and Tenderly, We Begin (Hackle Summer Trope Challenge) [5]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/F, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge, Super angsty, Trapped, Week 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-19 12:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: When Ada becomes trapped in a series of alternate realities, it's up to Hecate and Dimity to bring her back.5/8 in the Hackle Summer Trope Challenge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First, go back and read the other pieces in this series, lest ye be lost, plotwise.
> 
> Second, this one is going to get a little emotionally tough, loves. I will put warnings before those chapters, and if you need to skip them, please do. Know that the highlights/purpose of this installment will be recapped in the next, so you'll be OK if you need to tap out on this one. Also I feel like a bit of an ass with all this foreshadowing, but I'm really not for triggering anyone who might be going through a grieving process of their own.
> 
> Third, just trust me, please? I'm a little anxious as to people's reactions over this particular storyline, but I need you guys to know that it is necessary, and it will be worth it. Just...stay with me, mkay?

Ada Cackle sank into her desk chair with a soft sigh. It was only mid-afternoon, and the day had already exhausted her. Midterm testing always did. She briefly considered sending a note to Hecate, asking her to tea, but let the thought slip away. Her deputy would be in her lab right now, preparing exam questions and muttering to herself in that oblivious, adorable way of hers as she leafed through textbooks and made notes. And while Hecate would gladly drop whatever she was doing to have tea with Ada, it probably wasn’t fair to take advantage of that eagerness. After all, they did still have jobs to do.

But only for a week more. Then, a glorious week’s break, followed by Yuletide holidays only a month later. Ada could barely contain her excitement at the thought. This year would be different—because things with Hecate were different. Yes, there would still be all the usual Yuletide festivities, all the activities planned for the girls who did not return home for the holiday. But everything would be made new again, simply because of this new phase with Hecate. Walks through the snow-covered garden could be spent holding hands, evenings by the fire even warmer due to sweet smiles. And…and maybe she’d found another dress for the Yule log lighting that was sure to earn her some deliciously dark glances from the potions mistress, if Hecate’s reaction to her Halloween dress was anything to go by.

She didn’t expect much to happen between them physically, though the daydreams were quite nice. Hecate was a woman of reflection and contemplation; this relationship wouldn’t happen overnight. But it had begun, however glacially, and Ada had decided to merely embrace the agony of waiting.

Well, it wasn’t really agony, she inwardly amended. It was…good. She’d known for quite some time that her feelings for Hecate were less than professional and certainly more than platonic—but once she’d realized that Hecate returned those feelings, Ada had been surprised at just how deep her own emotions ran, and just how volatilely they reacted to the smallest of things. It was startling, how easily a simple touch, a fleeting glance, an open smile could rattle her to the very core. One would think she was a blushing virgin, in love for the very first time.

So, yes, slow and steady was a good thing. If Hecate had been more forward in her pursuit, Ada might have just died from overwhelmed delight ( _but oh, what a way to go_ ). Besides, there was something delicious in the waiting, in the anticipation of every next-glance, every impending touch.

For now, focus was on the emotional side of things, and twenty years’ worth of evolutions to unpack and understand. By now, she was absolutely certain that she wanted things to progress, and she wanted Hecate to have the exact same amount of surety, to have no regrets when they finally did cross that line.

Because nothing could be a crueler fate than to love Hecate, only to lose her. Ada realized this fear, three weeks earlier at the Samhain ceremony in the Hallowed Hills—her birthday gift to Hecate, who’d been blown away by the surprise, in the best of ways. The mistress of ceremony had somberly intoned on honoring the darkness, and Ada had agreed with that much, wholeheartedly. During that moment, Ada had realized that Hecate was her darkness—not a shining star, destined to burn out and die, but rather the quiet inky blackness between everything, the space that held the Universe together, pervasive and persistent and permanent. But the mistress of ceremony had also spoken of death, and while Ada had understood the need to accept its place in the world, she’d also been struck with cold fear at the thought of losing Hecate. Not only to death, but in any form—losing her friendship, losing this quiet love blossoming between them, losing simply being in her presence, losing her guidance and her counsel and her loyalty and her unwavering faith, which Ada had come to rely on more than she’d ever admitted.

The Samhain ceremony had revealed other things, too. Like the fact that Hecate possessed a staff—contraband for witches, technically. That little rebellion had surprised Ada completely (and had thrilled her, too, knowing that Hecate was still perfectly capable of breaking all the rules, something she sometimes forgot). During the ceremony, Hecate had merely looked down at her, eyes filled with fear and uncertainty, and Ada had silently assured her that she approved. On the flight home, Hecate had quietly confessed that she’d never wanted to hide it from Ada, but she’d been trying to protect her. Because Ada would have been bound by the Code to order Hecate to destroy it—something Hecate would never be able to do, and she’d never wanted to force Ada into keeping such a secret. Ada had smiled at Hecate’s noble nature, gently informed her that it was alright, that she’d gladly keep such a secret, because her loyalty was to Hecate, not to some stuffy outdated rule. And despite her propensity to be an absolute stickler for law and order, Hecate had merely ducked her head with a grin and thanked Ada for her complicity, in a low and teasing way that had sent shivers down Ada’s spine.

Ada felt it wise not to mention that Hecate could practically murder someone, justified or not, and Ada would forgive her, help her hide the body, lie while swearing upon everything she held sacred that Hecate was innocent—all it would take was one pleading look, with those eyes that could swallow the whole world with their depth. Hecate would probably be scandalized by such a confession, but it wouldn’t make it any less true. It was rather fortunate that Ada had fallen in love with such a good person, or else the situation could really be a problem.

With a light shake of her head at her own ridiculousness, Ada began shuffling through the items on her desk. Underneath a piece of paper, she found a single flower, an exotic piece she’d never seen before—five wide petals in a rich wine red, coming to dusky purple points. Attached was a note, with the phrase: _I wish I had met you sooner, so that I could love you longer._

_Hecate_. Ada beamed at the little token of affection—obviously, her deputy was missing her, too, during this hectic time. It took her a moment to realize the word _love_ was written upon the paper.

Love. _Love_. Hecate had written this word, in regards to Ada. While all the signs and symptoms had been present, it was still such a huge leap, to actually say (or at least write) the word. Her grin deepened. Of course Hecate would write it first, gently testing the waters, forever hesitant in a way that was endearing rather than exasperating.

But they would definitely have to talk about this. Because Ada’s response would be delivered verbally, and she would have the absolute joy of hearing Hecate’s low voice return those words again. With a happy sigh, she lifted the flower to her nose, inhaling its heavy scent.

Oh, how she shared Hecate’s sentiment—to have found her sooner, to be able to love her longer. To have a life filled to the brim with this, this big love and all its little tokens of affection.

The last thing she remembered was the sudden heaviness of her eyelids, the gentle warmth of slumber slipping through her limbs.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ada…Ada…Ada, dearest, you have to wake up.”

Someone was shaking her by the shoulder, rather insistently, despite the gentle, slow tone of voice. Ada groaned, blinking at the sudden brightness. Had she really fallen asleep at her desk, in the middle of the afternoon? Goddess, she must really be exhausted.

However, when she looked around her office, she immediately filled with alarm.

This was her office…but it wasn’t. No…it was…her mother’s.

She bolted to her feet, looking around. Behind her stood a smiling woman, a stranger who seemed oddly familiar, sleepy dark eyes and a syrupy warm smile that reminded her of her grandmother, though the woman had to be younger than Ada herself. She was tall and lithe, like Hecate, but the resemblance stopped there—her hair was the color of straw and stuck out in a messy halo, as if perhaps she’d just ridden her broom through a windstorm.

“Wha…what is going on?” Ada didn’t feel afraid. The stranger was too warm, too calm to be a threat.

“You got your wish,” she opened her hands. Long, expressive fingers spread out to indicate the room around them. “You’re going to meet Hecate Hardbroom much sooner.”

“I am?”

“Yes.” A breathless smile, one that made the stranger’s twinkling eyes mere slits. “Come along, they’ll be here soon.”

“Who?”

“Well, you, actually—your younger self—and your mother, of course.” The stranger gently wrapped an arm around Ada’s shoulders, guiding her to a corner of the room.

As if on cue, the door swung open, and Alma Cackle breezed into the room with her old air of preoccupied importance. A figure came in behind her, and Ada felt her heart catch in her throat at the sight of her younger self.

Younger Ada was _so_ young. Had she ever really been that fresh-faced and naïve looking? And she moved so forcefully, still fighting for every inch of her right to stand in her mother’s presence, still so full of fear and fire and indignation at her lot in life ( _oh, foolish, foolish child, how you will learn_ ).

“This has to be…” Ada tried to guess the year, her former age, trying to find a date, an answer somewhere in the room.

“Thirty-three years ago,” the stranger supplied in a low tone.

Younger Ada stopped in front of the desk, hands clasped resolutely in front of her. “Mother, I’m taking the internship with Weirdsister College.”

“Interesting.” Alma Cackle did not look up from the papers in her hand. “I don’t recall you ever requesting to do so.”

“I’m nearly thirty years old, I don’t need to _request_ anything,” Younger Ada shot back. She stopped herself, schooled her anger into something more adult-like, and spoke again. “I think it would be best, if I had teaching experience outside of the academy. Professor Edelvine only needs someone to cover a single semester, and it would be good—”

“Good for whom?” Now Alma looked up, brows arched in incredulous disdain. “Ada, Mrs. Drill is retiring next year. You will become deputy headmistress, and you will need to be fully integrated to the school and its students.”

“It’s only for six months, and I’ve already been teaching here for—”

“Every term counts, Ada.”

“Please, mother.” Younger Ada took a step forward, the desperation palpable in every line of her face. Ada understood—this was her last chance to escape the yoke of destiny, even if the escape was really only a slight delay of the inevitable. Oh, how she remembered that awful clawing feeling.

Alma Cackle sighed, titled her head up to the ceiling. Both Adas knew the battle had been won.

“Come along,” the stranger took Ada’s hand again. “It’s time to meet Hecate.”

* * *

Ada blinked, and they were in a musty, dimly-lit office, though the term seemed rather charitable—it was little more than a glorified broom closet. They were perched atop a precarious stack of file boxes, looking down into the small space below. A thin sheen of dust covered everything, and Ada was surprised she didn’t sneeze.

“The situational confines of this reality do not affect us,” the stranger intoned quietly, as if reading her mind. “Nothing you do in here will have consequences for the scene unfolding before us—you can scream, try to throw things, whatever you wish, but it won’t disturb the lives happening around us.”

Ada nodded, unsure if that was a comfort. The door creaked open cautiously, and a pale young woman gingerly stepped into the room.

_Hecate_. Oh, she couldn’t have been older than eighteen, maybe nineteen, face still plump with youth, almost too painfully perfect—no creases around her dark eyes to add depth, no defined cheekbones to add dimension, no little lines around her mouth to add warmth. Still, Ada looked and Ada loved.

Some things didn’t change—that wide-eyed uncertainty had lessened over the years, but it was still distinctly _Hecate_ in expression.

Younger Hecate looked around cautiously before relaxing slightly. Then, setting her hands on her nonexistent hips, she looked up at the mountain of file boxes, at the piles of books, the reams of paper, the shelves filled with dust-laden bric-a-brac. She took a breath, steeling herself, and moved forward with a familiar sense of determination. With an intricate twirl of her hand, she magicked new, empty boxes and began loading them with items from the shelf.

Minutes passed in peaceful silence, Ada fully content to watch Hecate absorb herself in the task. Then the door opened again, silently this time, and Ada saw her younger self in the doorway.

Younger Ada was equally entranced, it seemed. She didn’t speak, didn’t move beyond the door, simply watching the other girl with equal parts curiosity and confusion.

Hecate eventually turned around, dropping the glass paperweight she had in her hand as she startled. “Holy hell, who are _you_?”

Younger Ada stepped forward, “So sorry—I’m Ada Cackle and I—I think this is my office.”

“And you think that should stop you from at least letting me know you’re here?” The other witch shot back tersely, obviously still rattled.

“Well, no, of course not, I—” Younger Ada stopped herself, setting her hands on her hips and pulling herself up to her full height. “Look, I don’t think I should be the one offering explanations, to be honest. _You’re_ the one in _my_ office.”

_Oh, that’s not going to go over well,_ Ada inwardly moaned. And she was right.

Hecate’s eyes grew wider, fists clenching in anger as her spine stiffened. “First off, this is Professor Edelvine’s office, _you’re_ just the temp. And _I_ am trying to help.”

This softened Younger Ada, slightly. “Help? Who are you, one of the student teachers?”

Hecate blushed, but she kept eye contact. “No, this is only my second term at Weirdsister. Professor Edelvine said she’d tutor me, if I cleaned the place out—her welcoming gift to you. Apparently she wasn’t expecting you to be so…punctual.”

With a wave of her hand, Younger Ada easily reassembled the shattered paperweight, letting it float up into Hecate’s grasp. The now-restored item was gingerly placed into a box.

“Well, let me help you,” Younger Ada stepped forward, obviously trying to make amends.

“I would prefer that you didn’t.” Hecate turned away curtly. “It’s my task; I have to earn my tutoring sessions somehow.”

“Do you need the help that badly? It’s the start of term.”

Hecate was blushing again, but she firmly kept her back turned to Younger Ada. “No. But I want to stay top of the class.”

“Top of the class? Why have a tutor at all?”

Hecate rolled her eyes, shunting aside a box full of knickknacks with more force than necessary. “Must I explain every facet of my life’s choices to you? Because I really can think of a _thousand_ other things I’d rather do.”

_My, she was a sour one, wasn’t she?_ Ada still couldn’t help but smile, fully aware of the soft, sweet thing deep beneath the snark.

However, her younger self was not nearly as amused, or entranced. “Look, Miss…”

“Hardbroom. Hecate Hardbroom.”

“Miss Hardbroom, this semester is going to be a whole lot more bearable if we just—”

“I’d rather skip the let’s-be-friends speech,” Hecate cut in, her voice as flat as her expression. “I’m sure you think that winning me over might make your life more bearable, or earn you some karmic prize for valiant efforts in the field of academia—maybe you think you’re even doing me a favor, but trust me, you’re not. So please, let me do my job and come back in an hour or two when I’m done.”

She had filled another box, and magically produced another, continuing her emotionless rant, “I will be in your class two days a week, and I promise, I won’t give you a moment’s worry. But I don’t need anything from you, outside of an ability to teach competently. I’m _quite_ fine handling the rest on my own.”

Younger Ada took a step back, completely thrown off balance by the cold calculation in the teenage girl’s tone. Without another word, she left. Hecate continued her task, as if nothing had happened at all.

Ada turned to her mysterious guide, “Can we move forward—to the point where we decide to be friends, at least? I want to see how it all happens.”

The stranger gave a sad smile, a small shake of her messy blonde head. “We can’t. There isn’t a point where you ever become friends.”

“What?”

“Well, you wished you’d met Hecate Hardbroom sooner. And you did. But she’s only just ended her friendship with Pippa Pentangle. She’s a hurting, ugly, angry mess. And she will be, for a good five years or so. No one will be able to get close to her—no one with good intentions, anyways.”

Ada understood—Hecate was still hurting too much, still hating herself too deeply to allow anyone else to love her. She swallowed, her tongue thick in her mouth as she quietly asked, “And…Mistress Broomhead?”

“Will still show up in Hecate’s story, I’m afraid. Your wish affects your timeline primarily. The lives of others adjust to adapt to the changes in yours, but only slightly.”

“Will she still come to Cackle’s, as a teacher, later on?” Ada held on to a small bit of hope.

“She will be considered for a teaching position, by your mother. But you will fight her on it, remembering how rude and uncooperative she was during your semester as a teacher. So Hecate will never join the staff at Cackle’s.” The stranger sensed Ada’s dismay, leaning forward to offer another comforting smile. “But you can wish again, if you’d like.”

“I can?”

The stranger’s smile became warmer, tinged with amusement. “Of course.”

“But…how?” Ada realized she had no clue who this woman was. “Who are you? And _what_ are you?”

“I’m a seer. I guide people through visions of all the lives they could have had, and let them find the one they wish for the most. It’s like a dream, but you can control the outcome. Write your own fairytale, as it were.”

Ada knew she should be wary, should ask more questions, but she couldn’t find the words, nor the desire to do so. The seer was smiling so benignly, tilting her head in gentle expectancy, ready to grant Ada’s wish. She only had to say the words.

So she did. “Alright. I wish to meet Hecate after she’s healed from her falling out with Pippa. But still sooner—perhaps twenty-five years ago?”

That should be enough. An extra five years, to learn Hecate’s quirks and show her how good and worthy she was. To fall in love, even if it only meant five more years of having Hecate as something more than a colleague and friend, it was five years worth wishing for.

* * *

  ** _Present Day._**

Hecate Hardbroom kneaded the back of her neck, rolling her head from side to side and wincing at the popping sound her spine made in response. She’d been hunched over her desk for most of the day during her free time, organizing exams for all five years. With delicate fingers, she checked her timepiece.

Ada would be sitting down for afternoon tea. She smiled to herself, imagining Ada’s reaction when she appeared. The midterm schedule was so hectic, they didn’t really expect to spend much time together at all. So whenever she did find a moment to steal away to Ada’s office, the blonde’s warm delight at her appearance was always like a shot of witches brew, filling her veins with fire and making her brain fizz. It took every ounce of Hecate’s self-control not to constantly pop round the office, just to see that sweet reaction, again and again.

It was important to give Ada space, to prove that Hecate could still be professional when occasion dictated, to show that this new facet of their relationship was still functional, a help rather than a hinderance.

Not always easy, as Hecate found herself looking for excuses to be with Ada, like an addict seeking out a fix. Now being a perfect case in point—however, she _had_ finished everything she needed to do for the day, so there was no reason why she shouldn’t have a cup of tea. And if her headmistress happened to be present at that particular tea, then what would it hurt to smile into those twinkling blue eyes, to watch those tender and capable hands idly stir a cuppa, to keep thinking of those soft pink lips and imagine just how they’d feel against her own?

There was a time when she wouldn’t have allowed herself to indulge in such thoughts. She would have berated her lascivious behavior, would have tried to protect Ada from knowing, from being the object of her desire. But those days were past, she realized with a smile. Because Ada Cackle had made it perfectly clear that she wanted Hecate to look at her in that way, to think all those things and eventually act upon them.

And one day, she would, Hecate vowed. She just…wasn’t entirely sure she was ready yet. After spending years pining for something that she thought could never be, years of shuttering away her emotions and teaching her feelings to die quick and easy deaths, it was difficult, allowing them to see the light of day. Actually nurturing them, _wanting_ them to grow.

Ada made that part easy—her kindness, her encouragement, her thoughtfulness, her wit, her calm beauty, her _everything_ , tumbling together into a spell that no sane person could resist. The difficulty lay in Hecate’s ability to express her adoration and gratitude for these traits. Communication in any form had never been her strong suit, and she was grateful for the fact that Ada understood this and was patient in letting her find her way.

There was also, of course, the matter of wanting it to be absolutely perfect. Now Hecate Hardbroom was a sane enough individual, able to realize that perfection in human species was unattainable. But she wanted their courtship to be perfect for Ada. The blonde deserved romance and grand sweeping gestures, gifts and songs and all the sappy things that Hecate normally rolled her eyes over. But for Ada, she’d gladly play the fool—it would take time, though. To find the courage, to make the leap and do all the things that Ada deserved to have.

The woman should be properly seduced, Hecate decided with a curt nod of self-approval. The thought of seducing Ada Cackle sent a flush of heat across her skin, but she relished the warmth. She’d do everything right the first time—because if she had her way, this would be last time Ada Cackle was ever courted by anyone. For Hecate, there would be no other. Her goal now was to ensure that Ada felt the same.

With a quick cooling spell, Hecate gave a slight whip of her wrist, transferring to the hallway outside the headmistress’ office. She rapped her knuckles on the door, waiting for the familiar call to enter.

But the call never came. With a light frown, she tried again. No response. She cast a locating spell, and transferred to where the beacon sent her.

She was immediately greeted with a chill. Squinting, she turned in a small circle, looking around the room. It was a bedchamber, but one that hadn’t been used in quite a while. The staff quarters were relatively small and there were barely enough rooms to accommodate all the live-in positions, so who—

_Agatha_. The realization hit her like a jolt. These were Agatha’s old chambers. So where was Ada? And why had the locating spell brought her here, if Ada wasn’t?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...a bit of mental casting: for the seer, think Jemma Redgrave. One, because she's got such a kind and trusting face, who wouldn't just blindly follow her anywhere? And two, because I'm more than a little obsessed and you should be, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Twenty-five Years Ago._ **

“Here we are,” the seer announced quietly, motioning around the room. Ada blinked, taking a moment to gather her bearings. She was back at Cackle’s, in one of the staff chambers—in the sitting room, given the furniture and the heavy wooden door that inevitably led to the corridor.

Now _this_ was more of what Ada had in mind. Near the center of the room, she could see a wingback chair, angled away from their gaze, the top of a light brunette head peeking just over the top. A hand rested on the chair’s padded arm, and she recognized the bracelet around the wrist—a birthday gift from Alma, many years ago. So this was her former self, for certain. She’d been so used to seeing the platinum blonde whenever she looked in the mirror (easier to hide the silver and white streaking through her hair), sometimes she forgot that it wasn’t too long ago that she’d had darker hair.

There was a thick pile rug on the floor, to combat the cold stone. A fire crackled in the small hearth. And on the rug, a sight that Ada had only dreamt of: Hecate, in loose black robes, hair down, right elbow propped up on Ada’s knee, left hand gently tracing the outline of Ada’s calf as she looked up longingly, dark eyes glittering in the firelight.

“You know it’s only you, only ever you,” Hecate was whispering, her voice low and heavy with seriousness. “You are my only loyalty, now and forever.”

Ada felt a sudden oiliness snaking through her gut. Something wasn’t right.

“Of course, dear,” came the reply, and the sickening feeling in Ada’s stomach became a thing of teeth, clamping on her insides with sudden ferocity.

That wasn’t her former self in the chair. _It was Agatha_.

And Hecate was looking up at Agatha as if she were life itself. Her feverish devotion was palpable, filling the room like the heat of the fire.

“And if I chose to contest Ada’s appointment as headmistress?” Agatha spoke again, her tone smooth, laden with affection—but it wasn’t really affection, Ada realized. Agatha only had warmth for people and things that were useful.

“I will do all that is in my power to see you exactly where you belong,” Hecate promised. She laid her head on Agatha’s knee, closing her eyes in the soft, sweet way that she often did when pushing back tears of emotion. Her left hand stopped tracing up and down Agatha’s calf, simply holding on, as if trying to telepath her sincerity through touch. “You know I would do anything for you, Agatha. Anything at all.”

“I know,” Agatha’s voice was disgustingly smug, and Ada, who’d always forgiven her sister a multitude of sins, was awash with the deepest sense of anger she’d ever felt towards her twin. To abuse Hecate’s emotions so easily, to take all that love and devotion and sharpen it into some kind of tool, which would be discarded once it had served its purpose—what an absolute _sacrilege_. Agatha spoke again, the lie slipping easily through her teeth, “That is one of the reasons I love you so, Hecate Hardbroom.”

Hecate’s dark head snapped up at the pronouncement, eyes wide with fearful hope. Oh, how Ada’s heart shattered in that moment—Hecate drank in those words like a woman dying of thirst, so oblivious to the price they truly carried, to exactly what they bought in Agatha’s game of dominance and manipulation.

Ada should tell the seer to take them away, to make another wish, but she felt trapped, both horrified by the scene in front of her and unable to look away.

Hecate was shifting onto her knees, placing her hands on the arms of Agatha’s chair and leaning forward, the ache and the need evident in every line of her body as she whispered, “I love you, too, Agatha Cackle. I love you and I would—I would do anything you asked. Just ask, and it’s yours.”

Agatha’s hands were in Hecate’s hair now, guiding her into a kiss.

“This isn’t what I wanted at all,” Ada whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. She felt the seer shift closer to her, that simple movement tinged with regret.

“I told you, I can only manipulate the time line of other lives so much. Hecate came to the academy sooner, as you wished. But she still survived Mistress Broomhead, and coming here sooner meant that she was even more vulnerable. Agatha saw that weakness, and manipulated it to her own ends.”

Ada pressed her lips into a thin line. That sounded exactly like something her sister would do. Her sister, who was currently clutching at Hecate’s body, pulling her upwards, into her lap. Hecate’s hands were shaking like leaves, trying to find purchase anywhere and everywhere.

No, she couldn’t watch this. Ada squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her brain to think over the sound of Hecate’s soft needy whimpers and Agatha’s warm approving hums. She didn’t need prompting from the seer this time.

“I wish…I wish Hecate had arrived at the same time she _really_ did, twenty years ago. I just wish that we’d admitted to loving each other sooner.”

And the room began to melt away.

* * *

**_Present Day._ **

Hecate slowly circled the cold and darkened room, her face skewed in confusion. Why would the spell have thought that Ada was here? Had Hecate been distracted, had she somehow misfired? With another deep breath, she sent out the spell again, magic zipping through every corridor, searching for Ada.

Now…Ada’s office? She transferred there, but no one was around. She frowned, tried again, and found herself transferred to Ada’s private chambers. She was too concerned to be embarrassed, easily clipping from one room to the next as her dark eyes scanned the area, trying to see if anything was amiss.

Once an accident, twice a coincidence, thrice a pattern. What on earth was going on?

She transferred back to Ada’s office. Obviously, she couldn’t locate the headmistress with a simple spell, so now it was time to look for clues.

But maybe the problem was with her? Maybe her magic was somehow…compromised? Great goddess perish the thought, but it was almost preferable, because at least then it would mean that _someone_ was capable of finding Ada.

“No running in the corridors!” A voice bellowed out, and for once, Hecate felt a measure of relief in hearing the familiar tone. She summoned Ada’s door open before Dimity Drill could even knock, the flying instructor's face filling with slight confusion.

“Hullo, HB, is Ada in?” Dimity easily stepped into the room, her eyebrows still quirked in a questioning expression.

“I’m…not sure,” Hecate admitted. She clasped her hands together. “Try locating her.”

Dimity frowned, but obeyed. “She’s…in her rooms?”

Hecate’s stomach dropped. “That’s what I thought, too…but she’s not.”

“But…the spell says she is.”

With a dramatic flourish, Hecate motioned towards Ada’s private chambers. “Feel free to go in and look. She’s not there. And her beacon keeps…shifting. I was in Agatha’s old chambers, earlier.”

Now Dimity was beginning to understand the severity of the situation. “What the bloody hell’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Hecate admitted quietly. “I’m…looking for clues, currently.”

“Alright, Miss Marple, ya need some help?”

Hecate bristled at the reference, her pride rearing its ugly head, “I will be quite fine on my own, thank you.”

“Welp, too bad, Watson, because Sherlock’s here and I’m not leaving until we figure this out,” Dimity announced, waltzing further into the room with her usual presumptive air. An act that Hecate would generally find annoying, but one that currently instilled a sense of relief in the potions mistress.

The two witches lapsed into concentrated silence as they moved around the office, scanning the area for anything that might indicate where Ada was, or what might have happened. Dimity pushed back a wave of fear, telling herself that HB was probably being overdramatic, as usual. Ada would appear, apologize for worrying them, and they'd all laugh about it later. Of course, Dimity would also use this as a means of pointing out that HB needed to just hurry up and confess her undying love for her headmistress (Dimity did have a rather large bit of money riding on this bet, after all). She lowered herself to the ground, glancing under the various bits of furniture.

“A clue!” Dimity exclaimed from underneath Ada’s desk. Hecate hurried over, frowning slightly as Dimity held up a flower.

“What on earth?” Hecate said slowly, delicately taking the flower between her fingertips to inspect it. Five pointed petals. Two completely black, three reddish purple. Suddenly, one red petal began to darken, black bleeding in, consuming the other colors.

“I have no idea what that means, but I feel pretty confident in saying that it can’t be good,” Dimity announced quietly. Hecate hummed in agreement. She snapped her fingers and a third witch appeared in the room: Miss Gimlett, botany instructor.

“What in great Merlins’ girdle…” Gimlett looked around, gloved hands still caked in dirt and holding a trowel. When she saw Dimity and Hecate, she frowned. “Where’s Ada?”

“Can you tell me what type of flower this is?” Hecate ignored Miss Gimlett’s question, partly because she didn’t have an answer and partly because she didn’t want to fuel a hysterical outbreak unless absolutely necessary.

“Ah,” Gimlett stepped forward, squinting slightly. She was completely unfazed by Hecate’s lack of interpersonal skills, preferred the woman’s directness in a way. “I don’t recognize it, right off the bat. Mind if I pop into my office and grab a reference book?”

“Please do,” Hecate nodded. Gimlett disappeared, and Dimity gave the deputy headmistress an uneasy glance.

“What are you thinking?” She ventured, unsure that she wanted to hear the answer.

“That I sincerely hope we’re all just being idiots,” Hecate returned quietly. She gingerly plucked the edge of the note that was attached to the flower, surprised to see her own handwriting.

_I wish I had met you sooner, so that I could love you longer._

Her blood went cold.

“I didn’t write this,” she announced, dread filling her tone. She held the note up for Dimity to read.

“Looks like your handwriting,” the flying instructor pointed out.

“Exactly.”

Dimity suddenly understood. If HB didn’t write a note that was meant to look like her handwriting…. “What do you think this is, some kind of trap?”

“I don’t know,” HB was looking down at the note again with a frown—her worried frown, Dimity knew. “But as with most traps, I don’t think it can be anything good.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains references to difficult childbirth, infant death, and a major character death. I actually went back and softened this chapter up, so it isn't as traumatic as it originally was. But still, ye were warned.

**_Ten Years Earlier._ **

Ada recognized this room immediately—her own private chambers. She turned to the seer, who was watching her with a soft smile. “What year is it?”

“We’re only ten years into the past,” the seer responded. “Hecate arrived at the Academy ten years prior, just as she was meant to.”

“And we…we are in love?” Ada was almost too afraid to ask.

The seer’s smile turned syrupy sweet again as she tilted her head towards the opposite corner of the room. “See for yourself.”

Ada turned to see the back of Hecate Hardbroom’s familiar form, standing at the window. Except it wasn’t entirely familiar. Hecate’s hair was in a thick braid, her hair indescribably glossy, and even under her very loose robes, Ada could tell that her figure looked…different. Her hips were wider, more filled out.

Hecate turned away from the window, and Ada gasped in surprise. She was pregnant, heavily so, hand rubbing against her swollen abdomen, heel of her palm pressing into her side occasionally, as if working out a tense muscle. One hand went up to the timepiece, still around her neck—but now, on the chain was a new addition: a wedding band.

“You two have had more than enough time to adequately develop,” she murmured, her strict words completely negated by her warm and gentle tone. “It’s time to make an appearance—I would very much appreciate the full use of my lungs again.”

Ada’s face hurt from beaming at the scene before her. Hecate pregnant with twins— _their_ twins, their love in human form, almost ready to greet the world. Now _this_ was the alternate past worth wishing for.

Hecate paced the length of the room, heel of her hand pressing into her belly with an agitated air, sometimes both hands coming up to press downward, to gingerly feel for the children inside of her. She was taking small, shallow breaths, her discomfort obvious. Ada saw a pale flash at the hem of her robe as she turned around, and she realized that Hecate was barefoot. Ah, yes, her usual heels were probably too impossible, this late in her pregnancy.

“Please come today,” Hecate whispered. “It’s Mummy’s birthday, I would love to give her a big surprise. She’d be so happy, finally getting to meet you. And oh, you’re going to love her. She will spoil you rotten, I’m afraid, but that’s her way. You’ll see.”

Ada felt the tears on her cheeks but didn’t bother to wipe them away. While she’d never had a deep desire to be a mother, the idea of being a parent with Hecate was an absolute treasure—especially when it filled Hecate with so much joy and peace. It was a dream, Ada knew, but she’d gladly enjoy it until she awoke.

Suddenly, Hecate stopped her pacing, her face spasming in a mixture of pain and shock. There was a splattering sound, and Ada saw the dampness seep through Hecate’s robes, making them cling to her legs.

“Ada!” Hecate called out. “Ada, they’re coming!”

The door shunted open and Other Ada, who looked so comfortingly close to the real Ada, bustled in, her face etched with concern. “Are you sure?”

Hecate motioned towards the puddle on the floor. “I realize I’ve never done this before, but I do believe that is a symptom of labor.”

“Right, of course,” Other Ada’s arm was around her wife’s waist, gently guiding her back into the bedroom. “Come along, love, easy does it.”

“I’m fine, Ada—”

“I know, I know—”

“I’d rather walk. It’s going to be a long time before anything actually happens.”

Other Ada stopped, realizing the logic in her wife’s words. Hecate, without her heels, was almost level with her in height, and she leaned forward slightly to bump her nose against Ada’s.

“Happy birthday, Ada Cackle.” The soft adoration of her words, coupled with her brilliant smile, was enough to send both Adas over the moon.

* * *

  ** _Present Day._**

Dimity and Hecate waited in terse silence, both too lost in their thoughts to speak and too afraid to voice them aloud, even if they could. Hecate’s thumb couldn’t stop brushing over the note, turning it over and over in her mind.

She didn’t send this. Wished that she had, in a way. Ada deserved flowers and love notes. But someone had wanted Ada to _think_ it was from Hecate. The handwriting was meticulously accurate. Her gut bubbled with fear and worry at the implications.

Miss Gimlett popped back into the room. Her gardening gloves and trowel were gone, and in her hand was a heavy book, which she was currently squinting into (Miss Gimlett desperately needed glasses, but she was a rather vain woman and simply refused to cave in to practicality).

“Alright,” she announced. “I think this may be it. Hand me the specimen.”

Hecate transferred to Gimlett’s side, holding up the flower for inspection. There was no way that she was letting go of it, her only clue, her only link to Ada’s potential whereabouts.

“Now, were the petals already like that?” Gimlett asked.

“No—at least, one wasn’t,” Hecate corrected. “It was red and then it just…turned, before our eyes.”

Gimlett gave a disheartening hum. “Just as I feared.”

“What? What is it?” Dimity moved forward as well, eyes wide with worry.

“It’s a Wailing Wishmaker,” Gimlett announced.

“Bit of an oxymoronic name,” Dimity commented.

“What does it _do_?” Hecate demanded, skin simmering with impatience.

“Well, it’s an enchanted flower—not even really a flower at all, to be honest. It’s an enchantment itself. Very dark magic.”

Hecate bit back the retort that she didn’t care how dark the magic was—she’d bargain her soul, slice it into ribbons to make a daisy chain for the darkest powers in the Universe, if it saved Ada’s. Gimlett continued, “The flower is actually more of a door, if you will—to another world. It’s enchanted with the ability to pull its target into another reality. The target has to be convinced in some way to make a wish. And as long as they do so within a matter of seconds before or after inhaling the flower’s scent, it takes them away.”

“Away where?” Hecate’s eyes were wide with terror. Her gut was slithering and twisting upon itself, dread and intuition stealing through her veins like poison. She realized that Gimlett had technically already answered her question (her mind was so slow, too slow, she needed to focus, to find Ada), so she gave a curt shake of her head and tried a different one. “How, exactly, do they get back to _this_ reality?”

“Well, that’s just it.” Gimlett looked absolutely queasy. “They never do come back.”

* * *

**_Ten Years Earlier._ **

A midwife arrived, with her two apprentices. They bustled about Other Ada’s chambers, getting everything ready for the birth. Hecate and Other Ada paced the room, each revolution leaving Hecate more and more dependent on Other Ada for support. Her healthy, happy glow was replaced by a sickly sheen, and she’d shed one layer of robes, complaining of the heat. Occasionally, the midwife would instruct Hecate to stop and lower herself into a squat ( _it helps_ , she’d said, and they’d simply nodded, both too frightened to ask questions). Then Other Ada would help her wife back up, and the pacing would continue.

Ada and the seer watched from their corner of the room, Ada’s fist pressed so tightly against her mouth that she felt her teeth digging into her bottom lip. Each sound from Hecate was like a knife to her heart—the contractions were closer now, she reminded herself, soon it would be over. She silently congratulated her other self for remaining calm, for being brave and hiding her fear to comfort Hecate.

“I can’t—I can’t walk anymore,” Hecate panted, leaning forward. She couldn’t even stand fully upright. Her knuckles were white and Other Ada’s hand was beet red from her grip.

“Good,” decreed the midwife. “It’s time to start pushing.”

“Ada,” Hecate’s terror was palpable. “Ada, I don’t think I’m ready.”

“I’m here,” Other Ada assured her in a soothing tone, helping the midwife guide her into the bedroom. “Everything’s fine, we’re all going to be just fine, Hecate.”

Ada felt a hand on her shoulder, and suddenly, she and the seer were in the bedroom, again tucked out of the way in the corner. For a brief moment, Ada considered asking her to move them forward in time, to the end when she and Hecate were curled up with two precious, perfect babies, but she felt that she needed to be here, to be here for Hecate, even if Hecate already had one version of Ada, helping her through it all.

Hecate was on the bed, on all fours, hands gripping the footboard. Other Ada was standing at the end of the bed, staying close to her side, hand running up and down her arms, along her upper back, reminding her to breathe, to wait, to push now, to breathe again….Ada was slightly impressed with her other self’s composure and training. Obviously, she’d put in some studying on the subject.

The midwife was behind Hecate, slipping a hand inside her canal to check on the progress of the labor. Ada saw the brief flash of concern in the woman’s face, and she was glad that her other self was too busy focusing on her wife.

“Don’t push until you feel the contraction,” the midwife reminded her. Hecate nodded rapidly, unable to speak. Other Ada was stroking the side of her face, wiping back the tendrils of dark hair that had become plastered to her forehead. The apprentices were boiling water, prepping tools, rustling linens.

Hecate looked up, worried eyes focused on her wife. Too frightened, too exhausted to speak.

Other Ada filled the silence, “You’re doing great, my love. Absolutely brilliant. You’re just a few pushes away from having the full use of your lungs back.”

Hecate laughed at that, a gasping, raspy sound, dipping her head forward. The sound turned to a wail as she pushed through another contraction, the pain so evident that it ripped through Ada’s chest like a shockwave. Hecate was so pale, so unnaturally pale. Sweat was dripping off her nose, spittle collecting at the corner of her mouth. Was it always this visceral, this feral and fearful, pushing new life into the world?

“We’ve got a baby coming,” the midwife announced. Hecate made a small sound in response, and Other Ada continued whispering encouraging words in her wife’s ear, taking a linen rag from an apprentice and mopping away some of the sweat from Hecate’s face. “Come on, Hecate, one more big push. Just one more. One more…”

Hecate gave a bellow that could have torn down the entire castle, fingernails digging into the wooden footboard. A happy sigh from the midwife, and then a glorious sound.

A cry. Tiny at first, then growing into the fierce, indignant wail of a being who certainly did not ask to be pushed from the warm safety of its mother’s womb and into a cold and bright world. Other Ada was laughing in relief, Hecate was sobbing, and the apprentices were bustling about, helping cut the umbilical cord and wrap the first child up.

“A girl,” the midwife announced. “Now, come on, love. Halfway there.”

Hecate let out a string of curses, which were rather eloquently constructed, Ada thought, given her current state of physical and emotional turmoil. Other Ada was cheering her on, rubbing her back in big circles, keeping her spirits up despite the exhaustion that most certainly must have been flooding through her body.

The first child was swaddled, and one of the apprentices came forward, angling so that Hecate and Ada could peer down at their daughter.

“Alma,” Hecate whispered hoarsely. “Her name is Alma.”

Other Ada looked up, beaming with adoration for her wife. “You’re sure?”

Hecate gave a small, quick nod, hissing through another labor pain. “I’m the one who had to push her out of _my_ body, Ada Cackle. I think choosing a name should be the least of my consolation prizes.”

Other Ada merely cupped Hecate’s face in her hands, kissing her forehead.

“Best birthday ever?” Hecate asked, one eyebrow quirked in genuine uncertainty.

Ada had to roll her eyes and stifle a laugh. Despite this alternate reality, Hecate Hardbroom was exactly the same.

Thankfully, so was Other Ada, who beamed and gave a single, definitive nod. “Best birthday ever.”

“Good,” Hecate panted. “You’ll never get a special day to yourself, ever again.”

Other Ada laughed, shifting to her wife’s side again so that she could continue rubbing her back. “Alright, love, deep breaths—”

Hecate was whimpering again, too exhausted to push through her pain any longer.

“Hecate,” the midwife warned. “Hecate, stay with us. We’re nearly there.”

Hecate’s head bobbed in response, but her arms and shoulders were shaking with fatigue. Other Ada moved to stand directly in front of her wife, letting Hecate’s head rest on her shoulder, taking most of Hecate’s weight in her arms. From across the room, Ada could hear her own voice, low and indecipherable, murmuring words of comfort and encouragement in Hecate’s ear. Hecate was responding with small noises of her own, more animal that human, tired and laced with pain.

The room was heavy with anxiety and anticipation as the minutes ticked by. The midwife finally had Hecate lay on her side. Hecate’s breathing became more and more difficult, and her movements became sluggish, almost disoriented. The midwife and her apprentices were exchanging grim looks, and Ada’s skin rippled with fear. Nothing was happening—something should have happened by now, shouldn’t it?

Stress and ache were radiating through Ada’s shoulders, every muscle screaming with tension. Hecate looked even paler than before, how was that possible? Other Ada was worried too, moving onto the bed to gently place Hecate’s head in her lap, rubbing her shoulder and quietly whispering to her. Hecate’s eyes kept slipping closed, long, lazy blinks interrupted by bouts of painful contractions.

Alma was crying again, and Hecate weakly motioned for the apprentice to bring her over. Other Ada gently took her daughter in her arms, and Hecate’s hand reached up, lovingly caressing the impossibly tiny feet beneath the swaddling.

“Your sister will be here soon,” Hecate promised, each word pushed out with such great effort that it seemed a miracle. To Other Ada, she quipped, “This second one is so much trouble, perhaps we should name her Agatha.”

Other Ada laughed, a skittering thing of released nerves. Hecate smiled slowly, proud of her own joke. Then she closed her eyes, and became very, very still.

“Hecate?” Other Ada shifted, concern filling her movements. “Hecate, are you alright?”

The midwife was moving forward now, climbing across the bed the check on the woman. She gently shifted Hecate, placing a hand on her abdomen. With a deepening frown, she pulled up the hem of Hecate’s robe, slipping her hand between the woman’s legs.

Her face fell, and Ada’s heart stopped.

Other Ada noticed, too. “What is it…is that—is that blood?”

The midwife’s hand was coated in a dark, rich red, almost as if she were wearing a glove. With a single glance at the two apprentices, the midwife silently relayed a command. One apprentice came forward, gently taking Alma from Other Ada’s arms and guiding her away from Hecate.

“What’s happening?” Other Ada demanded again.

“Ada, we need to move quickly,” the midwife informed her. “Hecate’s lost a lot of blood, and the baby hasn’t moved in a long time. You can’t be in here for the next part.”

“What? What next part? What are you—”

“Ada, please trust me, and let me do my job.”

Other Ada was too overwhelmed by fear to object, easily led away by the apprentices.

“Are you sure you want to watch this?” The seer’s voice interrupted Ada’s horror, quiet and hesitant.

“What happens next?” Ada asked, unable to look away. The midwife was turning Hecate onto her back, preparing a particularly wicked looking blade. Ada looked over at Hecate, pale and motionless. “Is she…I...I can’t see her breathing.”

The seer shifted closer, her face filled with regret. “She isn’t, Ada. And she won’t, ever again.”

“No. That’s not—that can’t be.”

“You will have a beautiful daughter. She will—”

“One?” Ada looked up at her, her heart breaking all over again at the implication. “But—only one?”

The seer gave a single, somber nod. “Alma will look like her. She will be happy and sweet and an absolute joy to everyone she meets. It will be hard for you, overcoming the loss of your wife and your other daughter. But you will overcome. You will still find good things in this life.”

“This life without Hecate.” Ada suddenly felt very small, overwhelmed by such a thought. Her blue eyes couldn’t leave the pale form on the bed, the profile so familiar, yet so devoid of anything close to the spark that was undefinably _Hecate_.

“She’ll still very much be a part of it all.”

“But she won’t be here,” Ada whispered, her heart breaking with every syllable. “She won’t be with me.”

“No.” The seer gently placed a hand on Ada’s shoulder. Ada looked at her, desperation bubbling through her veins like poison.

“But I can wish again. I can change this.” Ada’s mind was reeling, almost drunk on the thought of how easily she could regain this idyllic little world. “I can wish that she survives, that _both_ children survive—”

“Yes and no. Of course you can make another wish, yes.” The seer nodded emphatically. Then she bit her bottom lip, eyes crinkling in an expression of regret, “But…Hecate was never meant to bear children. She will always die, no matter when or how you change the scenario. A fever will take her, or an infection. Some things are simply written in our stars.”

Ada considered this new information. Hecate had to live.

“You fell in love so much earlier in your lives,” the seer pointed out quietly. “And at that point, Hecate _did_ wish to become a mother—to create a family, with _you_. It became her dearest dream.”

 _Her dearest dream_. Ada had adored seeing her so happy, so serene in her motherhood…to take that away from her seemed cruel. Hecate wouldn’t know, but Ada would. Could she live with that? Could she live with knowing that she’d possibly wished away Hecate’s greatest source of joy?

“This is all just a dream,” the seer reminded her. “There are no wrong choices. Just countless worlds to explore. Wish anything, and it shall be yours.”

 _It’s just a dream_ , her inner voice agreed. _Just…see where it goes. It’s perfectly safe. Then you can wake up, go have a nice tea with Hecate, and remember that it’s all OK._

With that thought, she looked back up at the seer. “I wish that Hecate survived the birth. I wish that I gave my life, for hers.”

* * *

**_Present Day._ **

Dimity kept a watchful eye as HB paced up and down the room, clutching her timepiece for dear life. Even from this distance, she’d swear that she could hear the gears in HB’s impressive mind whirring and turning, trying to find an answer. Miss Gimlett simply stood, shifting her weight from foot to foot uneasily as she skimmed through a book of dark magic, which contained the spell for creating a Wailing Wishmaker.

“Right, so,” Gimlett broke the silence. “This is a bit of a problem.”

HB was clicking to her side with a mixture of impatience and fear. “What? What is it?”

“Each Wishmaker is unique, because it has to be crafted to a specific target.”

“So there’s no way this was an accident,” Dimity confirmed. Not that she’d doubted that point, but she still felt a measure of despair at the affirmation.

Gimlett gave a grim nod. “This one was made especially to trap Ada. The problem is that when a spell is unique—”

“The reversal spell is equally unique,” Hecate breathed, the realization sinking into her bones with dragging dread. She looked down at the flower in her hand. Three petals, already black. What would happen when they were all black?

The botany mistress hummed in agreement. “The only way to know how to break the enchantment—or even truly know how the enchantment works—would be to find the witch who created this. Or at least know the exact words used to enchant the flower.”

“I don’t think we have that kind of time,” Hecate admitted quietly, her expression filled with worried regret.

 _Time_. Dimity’s brain blitzed with an idea. “The Mists of Time!”

HB whirled around, pointing a finger at the flying instructor, “We can use it to figure out where the enchantment came from, _exactly_ how it was made—”

“And exactly how to break it,” Dimity added. HB gave a quick pump of her fist.

“Excellent, Miss Drill.” Without further ado, she transferred to her potions storeroom.

With a smug smile, Dimity leaned in to Miss Gimlett, “That’s why _I’m_ the Sherlock in this scenario.”

* * *

There was a bottle of the Mists of Time somewhere, Hecate knew, hidden away in the shelves of her storeroom. Unfortunately, she was a bit paranoid and had enchanted all the vials and jars in the room, so that they did not respond to a locating spell—if anyone had the ability to get past her alarms in search of some controlled substance, they’d still have to work to find whatever it was they were looking for. A great idea that was currently biting her in the ass.

She noticed her hands shaking as she sorted through the bottles. Felt her lungs shrink, felt how difficult each breath became—her own voice was ragged, filling the small space and making it seem smaller. Surely she didn’t really sound like that, panicked and animalistic? She felt a strange heady wave, as if her brain was going to float away from her body.

_No no no, you can’t do this, Hecate. Not now. Ada needs you!_

Hecate gritted her teeth, forced herself to focus, to breathe—even if it was a shallow breath, it was still oxygen, still fuel for her brain. A trick she’d learned, during some of the initiation ceremonies with Broomhead’s coven: taking a shallow, long, measured breath, letting her lungs fill up at a slower pace, then just as slowly, pushing it out again.

 _Now focus, Hecate_.

She intentionally slowed her movements, splitting her concentration between her breathing and her search.

With a small cry of relief, she found the Mists of Time, glowing in its bottle. She uncapped it, delicately holding the flower above it, allowing the eerie white plume to envelope the enchanted bloom. The flower left her fingers, drifting back towards its origins. It went back to Ada’s hand, then to her desk, then into another unfamiliar hand, then back to a wooden table in a darkened room. A stranger bent over the flower, calling forth an ancient spirit to inhabit the object: _Take this witch and hold her tight, trick her with her heart’s delight. Tempt her with love and light and laughter, then keep her trapped, forever after. Five wishes given, five wishes granted. Once the fifth fulfilled, she’ll stay wherever planted._

A wave of nausea rolled across Hecate’s brain, her vision blacking out briefly. The mist dissipated, and when Hecate took the flower again, her stomach turned to lead.

Another petal had gone black.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Present Day._ **

Dimity felt the odd magical shockwave that rocked through the entire castle, her internal alarms going off like klaxons. She looked over at Miss Gimlett, whose pale expression informed her that she’d felt it, too.

“Stay here,” Dimity commanded. “And tell _no one_.”

Gimlett merely nodded. Dimity transferred to her chambers, grabbing the old wooden stirring ladle that would allow her to transfer past the alarm spells surrounding HB’s potions storeroom, which was her next destination.

HB was bent over, body in a ninety-degree angle as her head rested on the countertop. One fist was clutched to her stomach and she was breathing in sickly, panicking breaths, like a dying animal. The fear radiating from her was like heat from a fire—Dimity could feel it on her own skin, palpable and alive.

No. No, she couldn’t let this happen. She needed HB to remain calm, to be her usual pragmatic self, to figure this out and save Ada.

“Hecate,” she took a step closer, her voice barely audible.

HB still jumped at the sound, stumbling back against a shelf. Her eyes were wild, her terror-filled face nearly unrecognizable. Dimity fought back the urge to cry.

“Hecate, I need you to come back,” she kept her tone low and even. She held her hands out at her side, hands wide, as if approaching a wounded animal and showing that she meant no harm. “I’m going to do something a little unorthodox. I’m going to give you a hug.”

HB’s chest was still rising and falling at an unnaturally rapid pace, but she grimaced and said, in the tiniest, most heartbreaking tone, “I…I don’t think I want you to do that.”

“I know,” Dimity slipped another layer of soothing into her tone, still moving forward slowly. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I think it’s for the best. The pressure will help. It’s a science thing, HB—it helps the parasympathetic nervous system.”

She could see HB digesting this information, her brain calming slightly under the weight of fact and science. Dimity continued moving forward, slowly pulling the still-reluctant potions mistress into a hug and squeezing tightly.

HB was as rigid as a board, but eventually, Dimity felt her relax, even if only slightly. She continued her intervals, tight squeezes, slow releases, like a lazy heartbeat (and inwardly, she smugly told all those wankers who'd scoffed at her decision to study anatomy and physiology that her training _was_ useful, fuckyouverymuch).

“Good,” she cooed. “I’m gonna squeeze you tightly one last time, for ten seconds, then release. And then we’re gonna figure out how to save Ada. OK?”

The woman didn’t speak, but Dimity felt HB’s chin rubbing against her shoulder in a nod of agreement. Dimity tightened her grip, counting off the seconds in her head. She felt more tension leaving HB’s body, feeling a measure of relief herself.

“Another petal turned black,” HB murmured. Her breath hitched with an unvoiced sob. “I think it’s my fault.”

“I don’t think we have any power over what the flower does,” Dimity informed her.

“You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know the opposite, either.”

HB couldn’t argue with that logic, thankfully. Dimity stepped back, keeping her hands on HB’s arms and giving her a critical once-over. HB was too worried to be embarrassed, another good thing. They didn’t have time for awkwardness.

After taking a deep breath, HB motioned towards the flower, which currently rested on the counter. “There’s a spirit in there that will give Ada anything her heart desires, just to keep her there.”

Dimity frowned. “So…if it will bargain to keep her there, then…that means she _can_ leave, if she chooses.”

HB perked up at that. However, her hope was short-lived, “But why would she want to leave, if she’s living in her wildest dream?”

Now Dimity grinned at the woman’s absolute idiocy. “Because, my dear Watson, she’s already living her wildest dream, right here in the real world.”

* * *

**_Eight Years Later._ **

Ada was in the corridor of the Academy, although it wasn’t one that was immediately familiar to her. The seer was still beside her, hand placed tenderly on Ada’s shoulder.

“So…this is still in the past?” Ada guessed. “Ten years ago?”

Now the seer merely shook her head, giving a light chuckle. “We’re in the future, for once. It’s been eighteen years since you gave your life to save Hecate’s.”

“And our daughters?”

“Alma and Gevalia are beginning their studies at Weirdsister next term. They’re taking a gap year. Alma is backpacking through Asia and Gevalia—”

A figure turned the corner, youthful expression set in concern.

The seer’s smile deepened, “Gevalia is right here.”

Ada stepped forward, hand over her heart as she took in the sight of her child. She had Hecate’s dark hair and tall stature, Ada’s eyes and nose, and an adorably worried expression that was definitely inherited from her surviving mother.

Wherever Gevalia was going, she was in a hurry.

Ada found that merely thinking about following her was enough to propel them forward—except her legs weren’t moving. She was merely gliding, floating just above the floor. Like a ghost.

That’s when she noticed the silence. “It’s awfully quiet.”

The seer hummed, floating alongside Ada as they followed Gevalia through the maze of hallways. “The number of students has waned over the past few years. Miss Drill, the new deputy head, is rather good at recruiting, but Hecate isn’t the best headmistress.”

“Why on earth wouldn’t she be?” Ada felt a rattle of indignation in her veins. “Hecate is perfectly capable—”

“Hecate _was_ perfectly capable,” the seer interjected easily. With a slight shrug, she added, “But after losing you…her focus shifted.”

Ada felt a cold prick of intuition. “Shifted to what?”

Suddenly, a wave of air gusted past them, heavy and filled with magic energy. Ada’s brain rattled with a familiar voice, fearful and worried, shrieking _Ada!_

_Hecate_. Ada whirled around, looking for the source. The seer stopped, putting her hand on Ada’s shoulder again.

“It was nothing,” she assured her. “Let’s keep moving, lest we lose Gevalia.”

“But—I heard—”

“It’s fine, Ada. Just a figment of your imagination.”

Ada wanted to retort that this entire scenario was a figment of her imagination, but her curiosity was still brimming. Was Hecate happy? Had she found joy in her children? Why wasn’t she a good headmistress, what had happened?

Gevalia came to a door, using all of her strength to grind it open. Ada followed, frowning in curiosity. Across the room, she saw a tall, thin figure, bent over a cauldron.

Hecate. Her heart fluttered in relief.

“Mother?” Gevalia ventured in a cautious tone, keeping her distance. The unease in her thin frame made Ada anxious in turn.

Hecate turned to her daughter, face filled with confusion. She blinked, her glassy eyes become focused again. “What is it, love?”

Ada let out a sigh of relief. Hecate was still a good mother, that much she could tell. But she looked awful—even thinner than her usual size, sunken cheekbones and dark-circled eyes. Her hair was in a messy bun, her clothing coated in dust and goddess-only-knew-what-else.

“Miss Drill says she needs you upstairs. To approve some kind of—”

Hecate waved away the thought, turning back to her cauldron. “I trust Dimity’s judgment implicitly. Tell her I approve, whatever it is.”

Ada’s eyebrows shot skyward. Apparently Hecate wasn’t the same person _at all_. Trusting Dimity Drill? _Implicitly_? What she wouldn’t give to watch that story, to see how on earth those two got to this point. A small part of her chuckled, imagining the real Hecate’s reaction, whenever she awoke and told her of this dream.

“Mother—”

“You should leave, Gevalia.” Hecate’s tone took on a familiar hardness, “ _Now_.”

Her daughter ducked her head and left the room. Overcome with curiosity, Ada moved closer, leaning in to see what had consumed so much of Hecate’s attention. She gasped when she read the books splayed across the table: _Magic of the Dead_ , _From Darkness Bring Them: Necromancy for the Ages_ , _Summoning Spells for Realms Unknown_.

“Oh, Hecate, no,” she whispered to herself, her heart breaking with understanding. No good could come from black magic.

On the table sat an arrangement of items. A soft and faded pink sweater, folded with loving care. A familiar brooch, shined to perfection. A lock of blonde hair. A teacup, chipped from age and use _. My things, imbued with my memories, to bring me back._

“You won’t ever come back,” the seer seemed to read her thoughts again. “But she won’t ever stop trying.”

Ada’s throat tightened with tears, her blue eyes taking in the face she loved so much, destroyed by grief and guilt and bitterness. Of course Hecate wouldn’t give up. How many times had she saved Ada before, how many of her lives had she risked, to call Ada back from one disaster or another?

The seer spoke again, her voice a gentle lulling, “You can always wish again, Ada.”

* * *

**_Present Day._ **

Dimity leveled her gaze at Hecate, her tone as somber as death. “Tell me exactly what the witch said when creating this enchantment.”

Hecate nodded, repeating the refrain, “Take this witch and hold her tight, trick her with her heart’s delight. Tempt her with love and light and laughter, then keep her trapped, forever after. Five wishes given, five wishes granted. Once the fifth fulfilled, she’ll stay wherever planted.”

Dimity turned the flower over in her hand. “There’s still one wish left, then.”

Hecate felt her stomach flutter in fear. Oh Ada, hopeful, sweet, trusting Ada—she would wish again, it was too deeply ingrained in her nature to give up. And why shouldn’t she wish for more, for better? What did she have here that was worth returning to?

_You_. The voice in her head was so sure, it took Hecate by surprise. _Don’t be a fool, Hecate Hardbroom._ _Ada Cackle loves you, and you know it. She’d come after you, she’d find you in any lifetime._

But Hecate needed her here, now, in this lifetime.

She frowned. “Gimlett said it’s like a door.”

“Right.”

“Well…most doors aren’t…soundproof.”

Dimity’s face scrunched in confusion as she turned to look up at Hecate. “What’re you suggesting, HB? That we knock on the flower?”

“Not exactly,” Hecate took the flower in her hands again. “But…something like that.”

* * *

**_Eight Years Later._ **

Ada looked at the seer, the gleam in her dark eyes oddly disconcerting. With an uneasy breath, she admitted, “I’m…I’m not sure I want to try again. Every option has been horrible—why should the next one be any different?”

“Fifth time’s the charm,” the seer gave an encouraging smile. She reached out, placing a hand on Ada’s arm. “You must have faith, Ada. Just…make the wish. Any wish you want. It will be worth it, I promise.”

Ada hesitated. The woman was smiling so softly, so certain, so…trustworthy. And she hadn’t done anything to make Ada distrust her—all her stipulations about the mutability of the past made sense, and she’d never tried to manipulate Ada into making a specific wish.

Another breeze rippled across the room. A sensation, more than an actual sound, as if Ada could feel Hecate’s words on her skin. _Ada…Ada…Ada, come back to me…Ada, please…_

There was a flicker of fear in the seer’s eyes. She licked her lips, pressing them together. Then, she smiled again, “Ada, you _must_ wish again. You must. It will be worth it, I promise.”

Again, Ada felt a ripple of hesitant unease. And again, the seer seemed to read her mind, because suddenly, her form morphed.

And she was Hecate. Hecate, with her hair down, in soft black robes with a plunging neckline, reaching for Ada with a sweet smile.

“Ada. Ada, darling. Wish again. Wish for me, please…let us be happy.”

_Ada_ ….Yes, she could _feel_ it on her skin. Hecate’s voice, as insistent as a warm summer breeze.

The Hecate before her shook her head vehemently, reaching for Ada with needy desperation, “Ada, please, just stay. We’ll build whatever kind of world you want. And I’ll be here, always. I’ll be everything you want me to be. Just stay. This is what you want, isn’t it? Aren’t I your heart’s desire?”

Oh, the way she quirked her brow, the wide eyes so full of fearful pleading—it was Hecate, truly Hecate. And Hecate was moving towards her, body zinging with nervous energy. Her tone dipped lower, a raspy whisper, “Ada, I’m here now. Here always. Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone here—you see what will happen to me, if you go.”

Ada looked over at the other Hecate, gaunt face still hovering over the cauldron, lips set in a thin line of determination. But the seer-turned-Hecate’s hands cupped her cheek, turning her attention back to the version with searching eyes and wild hair.

“You wouldn’t be so cruel, would you, Ada?” Hecate was so close to her, her warm body just a whisper away. Her eyes were filled with sadness. “You _couldn’t_ be, could you?”

Hecate leaned forward, capturing Ada’s mouth in a kiss, arms wrapping around Ada as she pressed her body closer, taut muscles and desperate hands. But it wasn’t right—this wasn’t Hecate, not her Hecate, so bold and out of control. Hecate pulled away slightly, red-lipped and panting as she promised, “I can give you everything you want, Ada. I can _be_ everything you want. I can fulfill your wildest dreams—your fantasies—yes, I see them, even now! And I can give them to you. You can have it all—all of me, the best of me, _always_.”

Ada’s head was shaking involuntarily now. This was worse than any reality she’d seen—Hecate, completely unlike herself, promising her everything she’d ever wished for, and yet doing so in a way that she’d never wanted.

“I am yours, Ada. To do with as you wish.” Hecate stepped back, holding her hands out as if presenting a grand gift.

“But that’s not what I want,” Ada admitted. “That’s not what I want at all.”

Yes, she wanted a life with Hecate. But this—this, too eerily like the scene with Agatha, this Hecate, too needy, too possessed, too devoted, without thought or personality of her own—this was a nightmare.

“I want to love you, not own you,” Ada informed her.

“Then you shall,” Hecate smiled, that sweet familiar smile sending an ache through Ada’s chest. “Just wish it, and make it so.”

Ada would do anything, just to make this stop.

The breeze blew again. Hecate’s voice— _her_ Hecate’s voice—softly murmuring: _By all that I see, and all that we are, I summon you, Ada, from realms afar…._

And then she felt it. The steady press of Hecate's thumb against her wrist, where the connection charm rested. Grounding her, seeking her, pulling her back like an anchor, a beacon in the fog.

“I wish to return to reality. To _my_ reality. To _my_ Hecate.”

The scream that erupted from the wild-eyed imitation rent the fabric of their current world into shreds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Gevalia is Circe's middle name (it's mentioned only once in Chaos, Thy Name is Circe), and in my little headcanon universe, it's a family name, possibly Hecate's paternal grandmother's name. *insert the "The More You Know" shooting star here*


	6. Chapter 6

**_Present Day._ **

Dimity Drill could barely breathe—the small storeroom was brimming with tension as HB cupped the flower in her left hand, ardently whispering into its center, eyes closed and head bowed as her right hand grasped the odd bracelet on her left wrist, trying to push out with her magic in any way possible. Dimity released her own power, imagining it slipping around the room, herding HB’s energy and pushing it all towards the flower.

Suddenly, a shockwave erupted, as if all the power they’d concentrated on the flower blew back out at them, throwing them both to the ground. They were scrambling, looking at each other in wide-eyed wonder, silently making sure the other was alright. HB found the flower again.

All five petals were black.

“Why…” HB’s voice was thick, catching with fear. She tried to push forward, “Why isn’t she here?”

“I don’t know,” Dimity admitted quietly.

“Does this mean—”

“No. No, it can’t,” Dimity couldn’t allow the thought to be spoken, not yet, not ever.

HB looked at her, wanting so desperately to believe her words and yet fighting with the practical side of her nature.

“HB—HB, look at me.” Dimity was crawling across the floor, reaching out to grab the woman’s thin shoulders. “Whatever we just did, it was working. We can keep—”

HB held up the flower, right under Dimity’s nose. “It’s gone. The magic. Can’t you feel it?”

Dimity gingerly took the flower in her hand. HB was right. It was dead, dormant, devoid of whatever magical spark it had once contained.

And HB didn’t look much better. Her eyes had gone glassy, her face even paler than usual.

Then, pandemonium. Gimlett transferred into the storeroom, and HB’s alarms went wild, blaring and flashing.

“She’s back!” Gimlett yelled, trying to be heard over the alarms. “Ada—she’s—she just appeared at her desk!”

Before Dimity could react, HB had transferred them all back to Ada’s office.

* * *

Ada Cackle felt like her skull was being split in two. Her entire body felt heavy and her brain couldn’t quite seem to command its movements. With great effort, she finally opened her eyes.

She was in her office again. Her office, her _real_ office, in her real life, in the real world. What kind of dream was that?

There was a loud flurry of activity as three witches transferred into her office, all wide-eyed and fearful.

“Ada!” The cocktail of fear and relief and love in Hecate Hardbroom’s voice made her want to cry. There was her Hecate. No servile imitation, no alternate version— _true_ Hecate, in her greatest form.

Hecate was at her side, crouching down to touch her arm, dark eyes traveling every inch of her, as if looking for damages. “Ada, are you alright?”

“I had the strangest dream,” she confessed, still feeling muddled.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Dimity Drill gently interjected. She was standing behind Hecate, face filled with relief as well. At the other side of the desk, Miss Gimlett kept a safe distance, but her concern was still evident.

“It wasn’t?” Ada filled with dread at the thought. “Then what—how—”

“Someone tried to trap you,” Hecate’s hand was still on Ada’s arm, as if she needed physical reassurance that her headmistress was truly here. “They enchanted a flower, designed it to give you whatever you wished. To keep you there forever.”

“But you beat the system,” Dimity was grinning now, pride radiating in every line of her face. “And I think you’re the first person ever to do so.”

“I’m pretty sure I had some help,” Ada smiled softly at Hecate, whose face lit up with understanding. So it hadn’t been a figment of her imagination—Hecate had been calling to her, leading her back.

As always.

Miss Gimlett gently cleared her throat, “I think perhaps you should get some rest, Ada. We can discuss this later, once you’ve had some time to recover.”

“Yes,” Hecate was rising to her feet again. With a slight gesture of dismissal towards the other two witches, she said, “Thank you for your help, ladies—and for your continued discretion on the matter.”

They nodded in understanding at the unspoken command in her words. Dimity was grinning like a cheshire cat now, but Hecate didn’t give a damn. Gimlett seemed unaware of the situation, she wished Ada a speedy recovery before transferring away. Dimity gave HB one last small pat on the back, “Excellent work, Dr. Watson. And Ada, I’m so very glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” Ada returned. Her words were for Dimity, but her smile was entirely for Hecate. The younger woman was looking down at her with shining eyes, and despite the exhaustion Ada felt, there was an odd sense of energy in her veins.

“Thank you,” Hecate turned to Dimity with quiet gratitude. “For…everything.”

The flying instructor merely smiled.

 _Maybe that alternate future wasn’t too far off the mark_ , Ada suddenly mused. Dimity left the room, and Hecate turned back to her with a heartbreaking expression.

“I thought…” she couldn’t finish her sentence, couldn’t bear to say the words aloud.

“I know,” Ada reached out, taking her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. “But it’s alright now, dear. I’m here.”

Hecate tightened her grip on Ada’s hand, pulling the woman to her feet and into an embrace. Hecate’s arms were wrapped firmly around Ada’s neck, almost cutting off her oxygen, but she didn’t complain. Instead she returned the embrace, slipping her hands around Hecate’s waist and pulling her closer.

Hecate’s entire body was trembling so violently that for a moment, Ada feared she might collapse. So she held on tighter, repeating over and over again, “I’m here, Hecate. I’m here. It’s alright, I’m here….”

She felt Hecate’s body ripple against her, trying to suppress a sob. Ada continued whispering her assurances, hands moving up and down Hecate’s back in a comforting gesture. They stayed that way for a few minutes, until Hecate could better school her emotions.

“Ada,” Hecate murmured into her hair, voice laden with tears. “Ada, please, promise me something.”

“Anything.” Ada had never meant a promise so deeply in all of her life.

Hecate took a half-step back, loosening her grip on Ada but never fully letting go. With a small smile, she dipped her chin forward in a conspiratorial air. “Promise me that from now on, you'll never sniff strange flowers again.”

Had it been anyone else, Ada would have laughed. And she knew that, in a way, Hecate was trying to break the awful worried tension. But Hecate was still absolutely serious in her outlandish request, and the fear simmering in those dark eyes was enough to make Ada promise anything, so long as it took away that haunted look.

“I promise, my dear.”

“Good,” Hecate’s lips curled into a smile, her voice so low and warm that Ada almost forgot that she’d just survived a near-catastrophe. But the potions mistress was taking another step back, the warmth of her body slipping away from Ada’s skin regretfully. Her hands stayed on Ada’s shoulders. “How do you feel?”

“Like my bones are made of lead. And like I could sleep for a week,” Ada admitted. Hecate was smiling softly at her, but her eyes still held shadows of worry.

“Come along,” Hecate moved to Ada’s side, arm slipping around her shoulders.

Ada was perfectly capable of getting to her chambers on her own, but she wouldn’t deny Hecate the excuse to accompany her. Also, given Hecate’s current behavior, she couldn’t have argued her way into being left alone, even if she’d wanted to. She told herself that this was mainly for Hecate's benefit, allowing herself to be taken care of so completely, allowing Hecate to express her concern and her relief the most eloquent way she knew, through actions instead of words. She may have been lying to herself, only a little. But exhaustion was rapidly taking over, and Ada realized that perhaps she really couldn't have managed on her own.

So she let herself be transferred to her chambers, let Hecate pull back the blankets and carefully slip them over her again, as delicately as if she were mixing a volatile potion. Sleep was already pulling at her again, though she fought to stay awake, to take in the novelty of seeing Hecate’s form leaning over her own, the familiar ceiling of her bedroom in the background creating the beginning of a scene she’d imagined quite frequently over the past few weeks. But it was futile—her body was dragging her down into a blessedly dreamless rest. She could have sworn, just as she slipped under, that she felt the lightest brush of Hecate’s fingertips, removing her glasses, soothing her temple.

When she awoke many hours later, Hecate was still there, seated in an uncomfortable wooden chair beside the bed. Her upper body was leaned forward, her arms folded on the edge of the mattress, propping up her chin so that her forehead rested against Ada’s knee, fast asleep.

Ada smiled at the sight, fighting the urge to brush back the dark wisps of hair that now framed that pale and peaceful face. Her chest filled with a bubble of warm delight.

"Thank you," she whispered warmly to the sleeping woman beside her bed. "Thank you, for always finding me. For always, always bringing me back."

She'd say all this again, and more, when Hecate was awake. But for now, she let her heroine sleep. They had time. They had plenty of time, paced exactly as it was meant to be. Her strange journey through that enchanted alternate reality had been frightening, and filled with heartache—but it had been a wonderful revelation as well.

Because now she had no regrets. She’d met Hecate exactly when she was supposed to. Their love had developed, slow and winding and uncertain, exactly as it was supposed to. No fantasy could compare to this, this peaceful moment with this lovely soul. Ada said a small prayer of gratitude to her former self and all the choices she’d made over the years—good, bad, and mundane—because it had all led her here. Here, in this moment, with this woman, with this big love and all its small wonders.

And there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

 


End file.
